I Wasn't Kicked Off, I Quit
by Glalie773
Summary: Commentating on the first Quidditch game with Draco Malfoy isn't Hermione's ideal way of spending her day. But, of course, they're not even paying attention to the game much. "And lastly, the Boy-Who-Scored!" Pause. "Oh wait, he never 'scores'." One-shot.


**Oh, jeez, I haven't written a story in FOREVER. But here's one that I came up with when I was trying to fall asleep! Enjoy:D.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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When Hermione was asked – politely, of course – by McGonagall to be commentator on the upcoming Quidditch match, she was quite obviously disappointed. All the while she had been thinking of Head Girl honor medals, special new privileges, et cetera... And now, she was stuck on the pitch for no doubt hours on end, commenting on what was probably going to be a terribly _dull_ game.

She had no idea why she accepted.

She could have said no. Draco Malfoy, her Head counterpart, could have managed the game fine – after all, before being kicked off his own team (Hermione still smiled about that) he actually knew fairly a lot about the sport.

Hermione Granger couldn't think of reason of _why_ she accepted the position, other than the fact that she wanted it.

She was disgusted by herself by even thinking it. _Wanting_ a job that lasted hours, sitting next to a narcissistic, arrogant blonde that the sun was literally bouncing off of? She actually, truly _wanted_ to have to talk to him since nobody else was in the vicinity? She _wanted_ to be there?

Hermione covered her face in her hands, moaning. Yes. She wanted to.

But that didn't explain the reason as to why _Draco_ was there. Sure, he liked Quidditch and knew about it, but really. He was more of the type to go in the kitchens and torture the elves than commenting with Hermione Granger on a Gryffindor versus Slytherin match.

"Granger, if you keep sighing and moaning I'm going to slap you."

Hermione blinked, eyes shifting to her left to catch sight of a thoroughly put out Draco.

"I'm–" Hermione found she couldn't deny the charges. "Whatever."

"Do you know when Potter stops his let's-save-the-world-today pep talks long enough to start the game?" Draco asked, staring intently down at the pitch. Hermione followed his gaze.

"I don't know. Probably soon." She could have called out his indirect jibe against Harry, but having a conversation with Draco Malfoy at a normal volume was quite an accomplishment, and she found that she didn't want to stop.

"Who's going to do it?"

"What?"

Draco shot her a sneer. "Who's going to comment? Me or you?" He pointed to the magical microphone sitting directly between the two on the table ahead.

Hermione quirked a smile. "You know, Malfoy, anytime before this you would have never even asked."

Draco stared at her, eyes hardening into a steely gray. Hermione held his gaze firmly, determined not to back down.

"I just thought that you'd like to coo after Weasley some more, so the whole school can hear him be oblivious." His tone was flat, as were his eyes.

Hermione bristled, anger sparking deep within her. Draco knew that this was not true – well, _now_, it had been true last year – and he also knew how to grind her nerves, hard.

"_I _just thought that you might want to talk to your teammates a bit," she replied coolly. "You know, since they kicked you off the team and now you can't talk to them a whole much."

Draco's eyebrows smashed together. "I just thought that you'd like to show off your incredibly limited knowledge of Quidditch."

Hermione spat out, "I just thought you'd like to be the bloody prat you're very good at being!"

Draco, who had been facing Hermione in his chair for some time that Hermione didn't remember starting, lunged toward her.

Hermione shrieked, falling backwards and flailing her arms. She grabbed Draco's tie, the first thing she saw fluttering in the wind, and yanked him down.

"I hate you," she seethed, inches away from amused silver eyes. "I hate you _so_ fuc–"

Draco's eyes widened, and a smile curled his lips up. "My, my, Granger. Don't make your mouth as dirty as your blood."

Hermione punched him. Draco jerked back, expletives hissing from his mouth like wildfire. He raised a hand as if to strike back, but thought better of it and merely brought his face centimeters away from Hermione's.

"Punch me again and I'll rip your intestines out, Granger," he breathed, and Hermione stared thoughtfully into his eyes. They were angry and volatile, but she had seen them at _much_ worse. She smiled briefly.

And punched him again.

"Y–you, I fucking hate you!" Draco screeched, grabbing her arm and yanking her up to a standing position. "Stop hitting me, you bitch!"

"Mister Malfoy!" McGonagall rose from her seat twenty yards away. For the first time, Hermione and Draco noticed that they were, in fact, not alone: the entire school stared amusedly or interestedly at them. "Under _conditions_ did I allow you–"

"I will not hit Granger," Draco reeled off, still clutching at Hermione's winter coat. "I will not swear, I will not attempt to murder the entire scene. I will not commit suicide, I will not insult anyone and everyone, I will not start–"

"Mister Malfoy!" McGonagall said again, furiously. "You wanted this job, and with hesitation I gave it to you!"

Draco dropped Hermione's arm, something odd etching on his face. He dropped in his seat, mumbling under his breath.

Hermione sat down next to him, not being able to stop herself from staring. His ruffled blonde hair, fluttering gently in the wind, was very nearly the whitest hair she'd ever seen, to go along with his pale skin. His eyes, which were a light silvery color, looked almost dark compared to the rest of his body. Excluding the usual black winter coat, of course.

He caught her staring.

"What?" Draco snapped. "Potter's coming out."

And so he was. Hermione settled down, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Wait – you _wanted _this job?" Hermione smirked.

Draco glared at her. "Absolutely not, Mudblood."

"'Mudblood' gets old when you use it daily, Malfoy."

Draco pointed his wand at his throat. "_Sonorous_. Mudblood."

Gasps echoed around the pitch and Draco grinned. McGonagall shook her finger at him.

Hermione snorted. "_Sonorous._ Hm. Death Eater."

"_Ex_-Death Eater to you, Gra– Mudblood."

Hermione knew it was going to be a very interesting game.

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It was.

Hermione watched in a veiled amusement as Draco insulted every single player that walked onto the pitch, Slytherins included. She supposed he was feeling sour over being kicked off the team.

"And lastly, here's Potter, the boy-who-scored." Pause. "Oh, _wait_, you know, maybe I'll use a different nickname. He never scores, and I don't just mean Quidditch."

Titters swept the crowd, and younger students looked a little confused. Hermione shot Draco an irritated look.

"As if _you_ do."

Draco laughed out loud, delighted peals sweeping over the pitch. Hermione was thoroughly taken aback. When had she _ever_ heard him laugh so freely before?

"I do, Granger. Maybe you were too smashed to remember."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. Laughter boomed around the pitch. She appealed to McGonagall with her eyes, but the bloody Professor wasn't even looking at her.

So she played along, watching Harry shake the hand of Nott. "So you took advantage of me? Dear God, you really are a Death Eater."

Draco smirked, unfettered by the jeer. "I'm not taking advantage if you're practically throwing yourself on my lap."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Is Nott your replacement? As a commentator's neutral view, of course, he seems to be ten times better than you already."

Draco glowered at the tiny figure of Nott. "He's my replacement. So?"

"So, did they pick him before or after you were kicked off?"

Draco hissed between his teeth. Hermione frowned.

"Ouch. Before."

"Robins with the Quaffle."

Hermione started, quite forgetting she was supposed to be commenting. Guiltily, she caught Draco's eyes. He smiled.

"Weaselette with the Quaffle now–"

"You know, when speaking publicly in front of _everyone _I thought you'd tone the insults down a little–"

"What? There're two Weasleys. I'm just making sure the audience knows which one–"

"One's the Keeper, and the other's a _Chaser_! It's not hard to figure out which one has the Quaffle, Draco!"

"Well, since we're using first names now, Hermione, I'll call her whatever I want!"

Hermione sat there, frozen, amid the giggles of her classmates. "Weasley scores."

"For once. Oh, we're talking about little Weasley? Never mind."

"You're are utterly hopeless."

"How the hell do you work this thing?" Draco pointed to the scoreboard.

"You gave Slytherin thirty points!"

"On _accident_!"

"Oh. I forgot they kicked you off and you're sad."

"Give me that–"

"Stop–"

"_Granger_–"

"_Malfo_–"

"You–"

"I–"

"Aha!" Draco successfully tugged the scoreboard out of Hermione's hands, and pointed his wand at it.

It exploded.

"Did you get kicked out of the Death Eater party too because you're so dreadful at spells? What? Couldn't properly perform the killing curs– ouch!" Hermione rubbed her arm, where Draco had punched her. "You can't hit me!"

"Why not?" Draco challenged, the game completely forgotten by him and the entire school as well. He slapped her cheek. "See?" He pulled her hair. "Bitch!"

Hermione shoved him, scowling. She knew that he wasn't trying to hurt her; his slaps had no strength to them. Still.

"Oh yeah?" she countered. She grabbed his tie and yanked; Draco spluttered. "How does that feel?"

"I–" Draco choked, hands scrabbling at Hermione's hair. "I _hate you_!"

In the scuffle that ensued, the podium was knocked over, the exploded scoreboard was somewhere, Draco's shirt ripped, Hermione's shoes were off and halfway across the pitch, and two lips were glued together.

Draco pulled away first, sneering. "This doesn't change anything."

"I agree," Hermione said, a little breathlessly but all-business. "Nothing. You're still a Death Eater bastard who is kicked off nearly everything."

"You're still a Mudblood bitch."

"...Happy three month anniversary, Death Eater bastard."

"The same to you, Mudblood bitch."

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Gryffindors won, in case you were wondering. But really, nobody cares about Quidditch. It's the couple alternating between insults and making out that's the most interesting part.

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"And I'll have you know, I wasn't _kicked off_, I QUIT!"

"Okay, Draco. Okay."

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**Short and quick. I was going to draw out the story a little more, but frankly, I wanted it to end so I could move on to another story! Sorry if there are errors, like I said, _wow quick._**

**Cheers, Glalie773 :D**

**PS: I fixed two errors, thank you reviewers for pointing them out! **


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